


but fix your eyes on me, i guess i'm all you have (and i swear you'll see the dawn again)

by Yevynaea



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels, Angst and Feels, Asexual Relationship, Attempted Murder, Bodyswap, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear of Death, Friendship/Love, Gen, Heaven & Hell, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Trials, i'm soft yall, this isnt even how trials go, this isnt how justice works gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevynaea/pseuds/Yevynaea
Summary: Seven months after the would've-been-end of the world, Hell and Heaven cotton on to the body swap trick. They aren't happy.





	but fix your eyes on me, i guess i'm all you have (and i swear you'll see the dawn again)

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea how to code footnotes with links so i'm sorry about the scrolling back and forth but It Just Be Like That Sometimes.

It’s been almost seven months since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t. Heaven and Hell, respectively, have given them small jobs over that time, have halfheartedly tried to keep them reigned in and working for their proper sides1. It hasn’t really worked. But Aziraphale remains an angel, and Crowley remains a demon, and the world remains the world, so, in some sense, everything is still as it was.

And then the incident happens.

The incident2 is Crowley gathering his courage right outside the bookshop, before he leaves, and saying, for the very first time, in no uncertain terms:

“I think I love you, angel.”

The incident is also Aziraphale softly replying:

“I love you too.”

It’s been seven months since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, and it’s been one week since the incident, and Heaven and Hell have both, quite suddenly, gone absolutely silent. Wary, Crowley and Aziraphale decide to switch places again, just for a bit. Just in case. You can never be too careful, after all.

It’s been seven months since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t. Aziraphale, in Crowley’s body, is speaking gently to Crowley’s houseplants as he waters them, telling them how lovely they are3. Crowley, in Aziraphale’s body, sits in his office, pretending he isn’t listening.

It’s been seven months since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, and there’s a loud, insistent knock on the front door.

“Probably Mrs. Abbey come to ask if we’ve seen her blessed cat, again,” Crowley mumbles, half to himself, as he gets up to answer it. Aziraphale hums, and keeps misting the plants.

Then the phone on the desk rings.

“I’ve got it,” Aziraphale calls, because if it’s Mrs. Abbey outside, Crowley will be busy for a minute or two.

“Yes?” they both ask, Aziraphale picking up the phone just as Crowley opens the door.

_“Hello, Crowley,”_ says a low, familiar voice, through the phone.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” says another familiar voice, at the same time, from the door.

Aziraphale hastily drops the phone, even before the maggots and silverfish start crawling out of it. He backs up from the desk.

“Michael, Uriel,” he hears Crowley greet their other set of guests. “What are you--”

“Cleaning up a mess,” Michael interrupts. There’s a scuffle of shoes, but Aziraphale doesn’t look, too preoccupied with watching Hastur and Dagon coalesce out of the piles of writhing insects that have gathered on the floor.

“You’re late,” says Michael, from the office doorway. Crowley is right behind her, being guided by Uriel’s hand around his arm.

“Are not,” protests Hastur.

“You were supposed to be here before us,” Uriel argues.

Aziraphale shares a cautious glance with Crowley.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Crowley asks the angels, giving a small, nervous smile when Michael turns toward him. She doesn’t answer, simply watches him for a moment, staring intensely.

“It’s a very good impression, I must admit,” she says finally, and a cold fear goes down Aziraphale’s spine. “It took us much too long to figure out the trick.”

“Our trials are over,” Aziraphale says, the protest weak to his own ears. “You agreed to leave us alone. You can’t do anything--”

“ _Wouldn’t’ve_ been able to do anything,” Dagon corrects.

“Until you slipped up,” Uriel adds.

“New evidence, new trials,” Hastur concludes.

“Now, switch back,” Michael orders. They’re all smiling, the four of them, so pleased with themselves.

“Wh-- hang on, what new evidence?” Crowley demands.

“Switch back,” Dagon hisses, not answering. She grabs Aziraphale’s arm, shoves him forward. Uriel does the same to Crowley-- automatically, Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s hand, and the two of them just… stand there, holding hands, staring at each other with fearful eyes and no idea what to do.

Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hand.

“Angel,” he says, quiet. Resigned.

Full of dread, Aziraphale takes a deep breath.

They swap back.

Crowley, himself again, presses a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s hand. Then they’re pulled apart, and in a beat and a flash of light, they’re all gone, leaving the flat empty4.

 

☙ ⚔ ❧

 

Crowley doesn’t expect for Aziraphale to still be beside him, when they get where they’re going. He’s grateful, so selfishly grateful, when they’re both unceremoniously shoved into uncomfortable chairs, next to each other.

They’re in Purgatory-- or, the closest thing to the idea of Purgatory. If Heaven is, so to speak, the penthouse, and Hell is the basement, then this is the floor right in the middle of the building, filled with boring cubicles that smell vaguely of old coffee and dust.

They’re in a long, empty room that might once have held a conference table. Beelzebub, Hastur, and Dagon are all standing on the right side of the room, in front of Crowley, while Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel are on the left, in front of Aziraphale. There’s a small in-ground pool filled with water behind Hell’s delegates, and a raging pillar of fire behind Heaven’s, leaving no illusion of what’s meant to happen here.

“A joint trial?” Aziraphale murmurs, confused. He reaches out for Crowley’s hand again, interlocking their fingers.

“We’re all eager to see this done and over with,” says Gabriel. “Does everyone remember the charges from last time? We don’t have to go through the whole song and dance again, right?”

“Get on with it,” agrees Beelzebub, waving one hand in a _hurry up_ gesture.

“Great.” Gabriel smiles, and claps his hands together, once, loudly. “Present the new evidence, we’ll start from there.”

The new evidence, apparently, is an outdated tape recorder, which Uriel produces from the inside of her jacket. She clicks play, and Crowley hears his own voice.

_“See you tomorrow, then,”_ it says.

_“Right,”_ replies Aziraphale’s voice.

_“Right…”_ there’s a pause, and just before his past self continues speaking, Crowley realizes with a sinking stomach exactly what the angels managed to get their spying hands on. _“Aziraphale?”_

_“Yes?”_ Aziraphale replies on the tape, and Crowley can picture him, turning back around just outside the door of the bookshop, that gently curling smile on his face, waiting.

_“I just-- I wanted--”_ Crowley can see himself, too, the white-knuckle grip he had on the door of the Bentley, the fear that saying the words out loud might change something. _“...I think I love you, angel.”_

He remembers Aziraphale’s surprise, the series of too-quick-to-read expressions that followed. He remembers the hesitation, the glance away, Aziraphale’s hand on the doorknob.

_“I love you too.”_

The recorder clicks off.

“Is that it?” asks Aziraphale. Crowley glances at him, surprised.

“Angel,” he starts, warning.

“I won’t let them try to say we’re doing something _wrong_ just by loving each other,” Aziraphale interrupts, voice tight and angry in a way Crowley’s rarely-- if ever-- heard.

“Except you are,” Michael says, smug.

“You’re on opposite sides,” Dagon grins.

“What is this, Romeo and Juliet?” Crowley demands, pretending he isn’t panicking, pretending he isn’t so in love and so so scared--

“In light of the evidence… Aziraphale, we find you guilty of treason against Heaven,” Gabriel announces.

“Crowley, we find you guilty of treazzzon against Hell,” Beelzebub echoes. “...Again.”

In a surprising turn of events, Hastur and Dagon grab Aziraphale. Uriel and Michael grab Crowley. They’re dragged in opposite directions. For the first time, Crowley _fights_ , kicking and clawing-- he turns into his serpent form, but Uriel only grabs him by the neck, and that’s _worse_ so he turns back. He thinks for a moment that the angels are going to just throw him in the water, but they stop at the edge. He can see his frightened reflection staring back at him.

The angels spin him around, and he sees Aziraphale across the room being spun too, back to the flames, so they’re facing each other. He can see his angel muttering something, lips moving too fast to read, hands shaking, eyes wide. _Praying_.

_Please stop this,_ Crowley thinks, a desperate prayer of his own. _Please save him. He doesn’t deserve to die like this. Not for me._

 

☙ ⚔ ❧

 

Across a wide room, two beings pray, _please save him._

And somewhere-nowhere-everywhere, She hears them, as She hears all prayers.

There is no roll of thunder, no sudden light. There is no interruption of the proceedings.

The world goes on.

Aziraphale is dragged into the flame.

Crowley is pushed into the water.

They both close their eyes a split second before, not wanting to see the other go.

And something

changes _._

 

☙ ⚔ ❧

 

“ _You said_ they were in the right bodies this time,” Gabriel growls. Aziraphale-or-maybe-Crowley is frantically patting down a rogue flame on his jacket sleeve, while Crowley-or-maybe-Aziraphale is clambering out of the pool, soaking wet.

“I thought they _were_ ,” Michael defends.

“What the Hel-- Heav-- _what_ just happened?” Crowley-maybe-Aziraphale demands.

“ _Switch them!”_ Beelzebub orders, enraged. Not one to hesitate, Dagon drags Aziraphale-maybe-Crowley across the room, tossing him unceremoniously into the pool. He sputters, treading water gracelessly, but he _also_ doesn’t melt.

“What the Hell,” mutters Uriel. Michael gives her a dirty look.

“I-- we--” Aziraphale5sputters, as Crowley pulls him from the pool, as the two traitors embrace, sinking to their knees beside the water. “What’s going on?”

“No idea, angel,” Crowley says, grasping at the back of Aziraphale’s jacket, nuzzling his face against the angel’s shoulder. “But we’re alive. We’re both alive.”

“They… really aren’t like us,” Hastur says, sounding shaken. Gabriel, much as he hates to have anything in common with a demon, can relate. Both sides had been so excited to find out about the body-swapping trick. Angry, of course, that they’d had the wool pulled over their eyes, but excited, vindicated, because it meant that nothing had _really_ changed, that the traitors hadn’t _really_ transcended their natures, only ducked Judgement. Gabriel’s world had been set straight again. But now-- now they’ve all seen it. No tricks, no switched places. Just an angel and a demon, both drenched in holy water-- and both perfectly fine.

“What are they?” Hastur asks. “Human?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Beelzebub answers.

“No.” Gabriel frowns. He knows that much. “Not human.”

“Then _what--_ ” Uriel starts to ask, but she’s interrupted with a hiss.

“Will you leave usss alone _now_?” Crowley demands, glaring over Aziraphale’s shoulder at their small audience.

“We can’t just--” Gabriel starts.

“We aren’t gonna--” Beelzebub starts simultaneously.

“They will,” Aziraphale interrupts firmly, his voice still just as warm and friendly as Gabriel’s ever heard it. It’s mildly terrifying. “They all will.”

Gabriel and Beelzebub share a look. Silently, they come to an agreement.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub says.

“Yes,” Gabriel echoes.

“Lovely,” says Aziraphale. He pulls Crowley up so they’re both standing. “Let’s go home, dear.”

They go, and Gabriel and the rest are left standing in enraged and puzzled silence.

“...Now what?” Dagon asks. The others glare.

 

☙ ⚔ ❧

 

“Still a demon, then?” Aziraphale asks, running gentle fingers through Crowley’s feathers. They’re in Aziraphale’s flat, above the bookshop, sitting on the bed, wings wrapped around each other. Crowley hums, staring at nothing in particular.

“I may be an aardvark,” he responds, half-serious. Aziraphale tries not to laugh6. “And what about you? Still an angel?”

“So far as I’m aware,” Aziraphale murmurs, a little wryly. He can’t help smiling, a small, dry thing. “Did you hear Gabriel and the others? They’ve no idea what we are either.”

Crowley’s brow furrows for a moment, before smoothing, and then he laughs, sudden and harsh.

“We’ve become a bit,” he pauses, clearly amused with himself, “ineffable.”

Aziraphale laughs too, unable to stifle it.

“I suppose we have,” he agrees, feathers ruffling happily. They both laugh together for a moment, giddy with relief, grateful to be here and whole in one anothers’ arms, before Crowley quiets, growing solemn.

“Do you think it was-- d’you think the Almighty stepped in, back there?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replies. “Might’ve been Her. But it might’ve just been… us. How much we’ve changed, from what an angel and a demon are… supposed to be.”

“Might’ve been,” Crowley agrees, a little absently. He runs his hands over Aziraphale’s wings. “Angel?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale asks, waiting, smiling.

“Love you,” Crowley says. Aziraphale closes his eyes, leans forward to gently press his forehead against Crowley’s. Crowley feels completely at home, wrapped up in his angel’s wings. When Aziraphale speaks, it’s quiet, and warm, and full of such relieved fondness.

“I love you too, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1From a rule-following point of view.  
> 2Without a capital "i", because on the grand scale of things, it really wasn't important enough to warrant one. This was not the moment either of them fell in love, and it changed very little about their relationship, to say it out loud. It was simply time for it to be said.  
> 3The plants, for their part, are all very confused by this.  
> 4Except, of course, for the plants, who are still quite confused.  
> 5Because it is, truly, Aziraphale, Gabriel realizes with dawning horror, who just stood unharmed in the Hellfire.  
> 6And fails.


End file.
